"Perhaps later, thank you." He turned to Valentine who was coming out in hat and coat, followed by a pale-faced maid carrying both arms full of wraps. "Please don't lose any time," said Guild, selecting wraps for Mrs. Courland and for Karen. "Are your servants ready?" "Nobody is ready," said Valentine, "but everybody is here or in the hall, I think." Guild gave his arm to Mrs. Courland and helped that active young matron spring into the touring car. Karen went next. Valentine and two maids followed; Guild slammed the door. "All right!" he said curtly to the chauffeur, then, hat in hand, he said gaily: "Au revoir! A happy reunion for us all!" As the car rolled out into the shining path of its own lamps Karen turned and looked back at him. And as long as he could see her she was looking back. After the car followed two of the forest waggons, one filled with servants, the other loaded with luggage. Darrel came out of the house with the last odds and ends of property belonging to the Courlands and flung it pell-mell into the last waggon. "Come on," he said briskly to Guild. "No, go ahead, Harry. I'm stopping to talk with Michaud----" "Well how are you going to get to Quellenheim?" "When I'm ready to go I'll get there." "You're not coming?" "Not now." Darrel came over and said, dropping his voice: "After this murdering business it won't do for _you_ to be caught here." "I don't mean to be caught here. Don't worry--and get a move on!" "What are you intending to do?" "I don't know yet. Come, Harry, start that waggon!" Darrel shrugged his shoulders, mounted the seat beside the driver, and the forest waggon rolled away into the darkness. Guild was still looking after it, listening to Michaud's report of the sniping affair near Trois Fontaines, when he saw the figure of a man walking back from the direction the waggon had taken. The man walked with a visible limp. "You idiot!" said Guild sharply as Darrel strolled up, his features blandly defiant. "Go on with what you were saying to Michaud," insisted Darrel, unruffled by his reception. "Come, Harry--this is downright damn foolishness. If you've let the waggon go on, you'll have to foot it to Quellenheim. You can't stay here!" "Why?" "Because, you infernal butter-in, you'll get mixed up in a particularly nasty mess. And it doesn't concern Yankees, this mess we're in, Michaud and I." "Oh hell!" said Darrel; "go on and talk, Michaud!" "Are you going to poke your nose into this?" demanded Guild. "It's in now." "See here, Harry! Your sticking by me is gratuitously silly and it annoys me. You don't have to. This isn't any of your business, this mess." Darrel lighted a cigarette and sat down on the terrace steps. Guild glared at him. "Will you go to the devil!" he snapped out. "No, I won't." Michaud, perplexed, had remained silent. "If things go wrong they'll make a clean sweep of us all, I tell you," said Guild. "Once more, Harry, will you mind your own business?"